


i diagnose you with gay

by yee_hawlw



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Pre-Relationship, moira gets shot but its fine yknow, the violence isnt really graphic but just to be safe yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yee_hawlw/pseuds/yee_hawlw
Summary: “Do not worry, I will have you fixed in no time.”The last thing Moira sees before she slips into unconsciousness is Angela’s forced smile, worry fraying the edges of her facade.





	i diagnose you with gay

**Author's Note:**

> written for my friend's birthday uwu

There’s an absurd amount of pain searing throughout Moira’s torso. The pain almost starts before the bullet tears through her side, like her body is trying to prepare her for upcoming pain.

Immediately when the bullet impacts Moira completely forgets what she was doing, where she is. Her brain is overwhelmed by the pain. Her ears are ringing. Her vision is blurry.

She brings her fingers up to her mouth, wiping at her chin, and brings them away. Her gloves are tipped red with blood.

“ _Fuck_ ,” is all Moira has the capacity to say.

“Moira!” The sound of her name being shouted breaks through the ringing in her ears.

Moira’s vision comes into focus slightly, and she sees her legs. Her brain remembers that she has legs. Her knees give out on her.

“ _Shit_ , Moira!” Someone catches her right as her legs crumple beneath her. A hand lightly grazes her fresh bullet wound, but Moira knows enough to bite down on her lip and not cry out.

“Goddamnit, Moira,” the voice says, breath hot against her ear. “Come on. I got you. Come on.”

Moira refocuses her eyes from her own feet to the person holding her and urging her along. The shoulder of Angela Ziegler’s uniform is stained red from the continual stream of blood coming from Moira’s mouth.

Her whole body heaves with a cough. Red speckles are splattered across the side of Angela’s face.

Angela catches her gaze and locks them together. “I need you to help me. I have you, but I cannot carry you by myself. Come on.”

Enough of the fog in Moira’s mind has cleared enough so that she can understand what Angela is saying. She nods, head heavy with cotton.

Angela shifts Moira slightly in her arms so that it's easier for her to usher her along whatever path Angela has made for them. Moira is stumbling on like a drunkard that had had 5 too many, but she’s trying.

Moira’s brain clears up more as Angela drags her along. She hears gunfire and shouting. She smells blood.

An echoing _boom_ shakes the building Angela and Moira are walking beside. Angela’s arm flies up to protect Moira’s face against the debris shaken from the building. Her wing curls around the two of them as a makeshift shield. Despite her best efforts, a small chunk of cement clips Moira on the temple.

“Almost zhere,” Angela urges. She stops them for a moment to shake off her arm, probably now shock full of glass, then continues.

They cross an alley as carefully as possible. They come upon a metal door. Angela shifts all of Moira’s weight into one arm in order to take out her silent pistol and fire one shot. The handle flies off, and she tucks her gun back into her holster.

Angela opens the door by shoving her back into it and dragging Moira along. Moira gives another heaving cough, more blood pouring from her mouth.

“Alright. Alright,” Angela says. Whatever room Angela had lead them into is dark. The only light comes from the faint glow on the lights on Angela’s wings. She gently places Moira down on the ground and shuts the door quickly. She drags a heavy metal shelf in front of the door before rushing over to Moira on the ground.

Angela takes out her caduceus and ejects the syringe from the mechanism on her wrist. The body of the caduceus is smeared with Moira’s blood.

“Do not worry, I will have you fixed in no time.”

The last thing Moira sees before she slips into unconsciousness is Angela’s forced smile, worry fraying the edges of her facade.

* * *

 

When Moira blinks into consciousness again, she feels achy all over, but the burning pain blaring from her bullet wound is all but gone. She grunts and lightly brushes her hand against it. She feels the gauze under her fingertips.

She's patched up, and no longer bleeding. And shirtless, she realizes as a bit of dust left on the ground tickles the back of her bare shoulder. She puts a palm to her throbbing forehead and props herself up on her elbow.

Angela - sitting in the far corner on an old grody bucket, a handheld radio by her feet, fiddling with something in her hands - looks almost relieved to see Moira sit up. If it were anyone else, Moira might have believed it.

“I see you have come back to ze world of the living, Doctor,” Angela says. She smiles slightly, then directs her gaze back to her hands. “I wasn't sure when you were going to wake up.”

Moira rubs at her eyes, trying to clear the static from her vision. “How long have we been in here?”

“A couple hours,” Angela says. “And we’re going to be here longer. Gabriel gave word zat another evac won't be here to pick us up in...several more hours, he said.”

 _Right_. The evac. The one that Moira’s team had been heading to, but due to the heavy gunfire Moira got separated from them.

Her hand comes up to touch the wound on her side. If she hadn't run into Angela, she would have bled out right there on the street.

She moves her hand back to the floor. Her fingers curl in the fabric of her own undershirt, laid out on the floor as a poor excuse for a bed.

“What happened to you?”

“Same zing as you, I assume,” Angela says. She shrugs. “There was a grenade. We got confused. I got separated from my squadron before we reached ze rendezvous point.” She worries her lower lip. “I only hope they made it out fine…”

“But are we still receiving communications from the base?”

Angela shakes her head. “We are still receiving communications with Gabriel. He didn't make it to evac either and is hiding out somewhere. He managed to send an S.O.S. to the base, but it's up to Jack if he wants to risk flying another ship into the middle of a war zone.”

Moira scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Of course they’ll come. You're the most brilliant doctor in the world. They wouldn't dare risk losing _your_ mind.”

Angela’s lips quirk into a smug grin. “I would say zat Gabriel has some good qualities about him worth saving as well.”

Moira just scoffs again. She keeps a steady hand on her injured side as she sits up fully. Angela begins speaking again before Moira can clap back.

“You're stabilized. Ze bullet hit something major. Multiple major zings. I cannot entirely be sure of what they all were exactly until we get back to the base and I can do a proper scan.”

Moira nods, half listening as she looks around the room Angela has holed them up in.

It looks like some kind of storage room, with tall shelves shoved anywhere there’s room. A desk is pushed against the far wall, but even at this distance and with this little light Moira can tell the computer on it is beyond hope. Every inch of the room is covered in grime and dirt.

Moira's discarded chest piece is leaned against the shelves on the wall opposite to her. Dried blood is caked around the bullet hole, with some smears of it from from Angela was probably handling her into the room and taking it off.

Angela sees her looking. “Here.” She tosses her whatever she’s been fiddling with in her hands. Moira catches it. “It went clean through, but it ze back of your armor stopped it. Left quite ze dent.”

Moira opens her hand. It's the bullet, still covered in blood. The head of it is flattened from when it impacted with Moira’s person.

Moira raises an eyebrow at Angela. “It's a tad strange that you were fiddling with this.”

“I didn’t really have anyzing better to do.”

The room is so small that Moira can easily lean over and snatch up the chest piece of her armor. She turns it over in her hands. “I suppose that this has seen the end of its days.”

“You could trade zat in and get fitted for ze full Valkyrie suit, no?”

“Oh please.” Moira laughs and tosses the ruined chest piece aside. “I’m not into this holy persona you’ve made for yourself.” Angela narrows her eyes. “I mean, the halo, the wings? It's a pathetic cry for attention.”

Angela opens her mouth to argue with her, but they’ve had this argument so many times and debated every little detail. She closes her mouth with a sigh. Her shoulders slump. There are bags under her eyes and blood all over her uniform. She looks beyond tired.

“Whatever,” she says. “Are you up for keeping watch? I could use a nap.”

“Go for it.”

Angela gets off the grimey bucket that she had been sitting on. She pulls her gun from her holster and offers it to Moira.

“Shoot enemies, not me,” she says as Moira’s fingers curl around it.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“You're unbelievable,” Angela mutters under she breath as she settles herself on the floor.

Angela has probably chosen the spot that’s the furthest she can get from Moira, but the room is so small that they're still almost touching. Moira can feel Angela’s body heat in the few inches between them.

Within a few moments of laying down, Angela is out like a light. Moira regards her newfound companion.

Moira hadn't noticed, but the sleeve of Angela's Valkyrie suit has been cut off up to the elbow. Her hand and forearm is wrapped in gauze that had already begun to turn a shade of red-pink from the blood that had been leaking through. Moira remembers a grenade going off and glass raining down on them.

That gauze could have been wrapped around Moira’s face, if not for Angela.

* * *

 

Angela wakes to the sound of rain.

During her nap, her head had somehow fallen to rest on Moira’s broad shoulder. She quickly pulls away and sits up.

Moira doesn't seem entirely too bothered. She’s curled into herself. Her hands are cupped together in front of her mouth as she tries to breathe warmth on them.

All too suddenly, Angela is aware of the biting cold that lays thick over the room.

“ _Mein gott_ ,” Angela hisses out. Her wings involuntarily curl around herself. She rubs her arms vigorously.

“Right?” Moira says. Her voice shakes with the biting chill. Angela notices that she's put her shirt back on.

Angela pulls her knees up to her chest and curls into herself. She suddenly wishes that she was in a place where she could remove her wing implants. The metal of her wings against her skin is _fucking freezing_.

“We are going to die here,” Angela says, under her breath.

“I doubt that it's cold enough for us to freeze to death,” Moira says blandly. “The evac should be arriving soon.”

Angela cranes her neck to look at her. “Did Gabriel contact us?”

“No,” Moira says. “But if Jack did send an evac, I would say that it's arriving soon. If it doesn't, we will probably die from some stray fire or thirst long before we die from the cold.” She removes a long arm from her little self-cocoon. She drags her finger over the grimy floor, lifting it up to her face to inspect it with a scowl. “Or infection.”

“Zat reminds me,” Angela says. “How many hours was I asleep?”

Moira thinks for a moment. “I’d guess...three or four. Why?”

“I need to check your wound.”

Moira shoots her a look. “I thought you said I was stabilized.”

“You are. But we are not exactly in my lab where I could treat you in two seconds and be done with you. Your wound is still healing. It is better safe than sorry, eizher way.”

Moira shrugs. “If you say so, Doctor.”

Still shivering, Moira peels off her shirt. She drapes it over her lap and is careful not to rest her back against the chilled concrete of the walls. She lifts up her arms and threads her fingers behind her head.

“I am at your mercy, Doctor Ziegler,” she says, the barest hint of a cocky smirk pulling at her lips.

Angela rolls her eyes. She tries not to scowl as she shifts in front of Moira, settling on her knees. The gauze wrapped tightly around her midsection is surprisingly clean. There's half a moment where Angela considers reusing it, since she has so little supplies, but the half moment of desperation passes.

She pulls a switchblade from one of her pouches on her belt and carefully begins cutting away the gauze.

The switchblade is one that Brigitte had made for her for Christmas quite a number of years ago. It's still as sharp as the day she got it. The only problem with the blade is that Brigitte had misspelled her name when carving it into the wooden handle. She’d only been five at the time, so Angela doesn't hold it against her.

The blade parts the gauze easily. She is careful not to cut Moira's skin.

“You're definitely a woman good with her hands,” Moira says. She winks in what is probably supposed to be a charismatic and cocky way, but just looks goofy to Angela. “That’s about the only quality I admire about you.”

“‘ _About_ ,’” Angela says coyly. She slips her previously-white-now-blood-red gloves on again in order to feel around and examine Moira’s wound closely. The fabric gets caught on her gauzed up arm. “What are some of the other things you admire about me?”

Angela expects a snarky comeback as her focus shifts solely onto the wound, now pink and raw-looking. She doesn't get a comeback. In fact, Moira goes completely silent for what has to be the first time in her life, or at least as long as Angela has known her.

“No comeback, Dr. O’Dearin? Really, I expected more of a fight.”

Angela brushes away the blond hair that has fallen into her face and looks up at Moira with a cocky smirk, sure that she had won whatever game they are currently playing. The smirk falls when she sees the intensity and hunger in Moira’s eyes as she stares down at the doctor, mouth parted slightly.

“Oh,” Angela says. Her mouth suddenly goes dry. Her tongue moistens her bottom lip.

Moira’s eyes follow the movement intently. “Doctor Ziegler,” she says, husky and charged, “you are the most beautiful thing I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon.”

If her face wasn't flushed before, it definitely is now. “Oh,” Angela says again.

Moira’s hand - warm even though it is beyond cold around them - comes to rest on Angela’s hip. That shocks the doctor out of her stillness.

“You know,” Angela says, twisting her good hand in the soft cotton of Moira’s under shirt and resting the bad one over her sharp collarbone, “I...It is rather cold in here. We could try...sharing body heat?”

Moira snorts. “That is positively the _worst_ line that I have ever heard.”

All the same, Moira’s other hand cups the back of Angela’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Angela can't help the tiny gasp that escapes her.

Angela pushes down Moira’s knee and slides onto her lap. Her left hand rests on Moira’s collarbone, warm and jutting out against her palm, while the other comes up to grip Moira’s fiery red hair. Moira growls and bites the Angela’s lower lip when she gives it a slight tug.

They pull away for air, panting and gasping. Angela believes that she is as red as Moira’s hair.

Moira's forehead rests on Angela’s own, and long fingers sneak down Angela’s abdomen. Her breath is hot against Angela's mouth. Angela shivers, but not because of the chill in the room.

Moira gives Angela’s belt a pointed tug. “You know, we most likely still have a couple hours until the evac shows…”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr here [**@theamazingkrypto**](https://theamazingkrypto.tumblr.com) ****
> 
> Reviews really do mean a lot to me!


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